the words that fall out of my pen when I step off the curb…

PERE LACHAISE ON A WINTER AFTERNOON 2014

Bitter she was that day, the wind, and chill
We had to buy hats and gloves at that tiny place
across from the cemetery and my feet froze anyhow
and blistered to death as we searched in vain
for those famous souls reputedly buried here
How huge it was…so many graves and crypts
and family plots – it was hard to grasp
Harder still to imagine drinking coffee
and eating a brioche in a place named
for the graveyard…I remember how we laughed.